


The Court of Fen'Harel

by Lynn_e_black



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, F/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24574054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynn_e_black/pseuds/Lynn_e_black
Summary: post-Tresspasser: The Dread Wolf succeeded in his goal of tearing down the veil and recreating the world that was lost to him. He has crowned himself king in this remade world and seeks to prove that he can accomplish what the Evanuris failed to do. Secrets, betrayals, and greed linger in the shadows just as before. Only time will tell if history repeats itself. solavellan (on-going)
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1. King of Old & New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post-Tresspasser: The Dread Wolf succeeded in his goal of tearing down the veil and recreating the world that was lost to him. He has crowned himself king in this remade world and seeks to prove that he can accomplish what the Evanuris failed to do. Secrets, betrayals, and greed linger in the shadows just as before. Only time will tell if history repeats itself. solavellan (on-going)

disclaimer : I don't own Dragon Age Inquisition, nor any of the characters within the game. Any OCs you do read about are of my own creation.

Inquisitor Profile:

Name: Ashalle Lavellan

Class: mage

Info: Disbanded the inquisition after the Exalted Council, Cassandra was named Divine, Dorian and Iron Bull entered into a relationship, and Morrigan drank from the well of Sorrow.

(All of this information is considered relevant to the story!)

The Court of Fen'Harel

Chp. 1 King of Old & New

It was decided long ago that the place where he would settle would be that of the Elven Ruins from the time of Elvhenan. He would restore what was old in addition to adding some new. It was necessary, he deemed, while molding and shaping all that it would become. He had grown accustomed to certain comforts during his travels and adventures, things he never truly cared for or dwell on prior to his time among the humans, children of the stone, and the qunari. At first, when he stood on the overgrown path, feeling the breath of wind mix with the will of magic and observing the subtle changes of nature; he realized ironically that he would miss the world he vowed to destroy in order to restore what was lost.

He realized within those brief, calm moments, before he summoned the divine power of the ancient magics to break down the very fabric of the veil, that he in truth would reshape some aspects out of necessity and not selfishness.

The foundation of the world shook and he watched, as promised, as all that had risen in place of the old burned in the chaos. With the flick of his wrist he destroyed the shrine, unbothered by the crumbling of the wolfen status or the cracks that webbed along the painted frescos, and in its stead erected a castle to call home. His desire to create a haven for the Elvhen people manifested itself in the shape of the stone fortress nestled in the rocky cliffs just beyond the long bridge.

It wasn't difficult, or at least no more so than reconnecting the eluvians had been. The magic flowed through him like air in his lungs, swiftly, easily, and naturally. His agents across Thedas, under his instruction, knew how to protect themselves. He'd sent scouts long before the veil began to pull against reality. They fanned out across the land with a message and small bundle for each of the elven faction leaders on where to go and how to survive. They gathered like lost sheep in the grey mists of the crossroads, the only place shielded from the uncontrollable madness that raged just beyond the protection of mirrors.

He watched as wild and willful spirits eagerly took to their new home. Much like the elves, they pressed together to learn of the world they once seemed no more than a dream or a reflection of their own reality. New and old magic blended beautifully. He often found himself speechless and surprised by the glimpses of forgotten dreams and dreamers lost to time.

One piece, one small piece of that world he refused to surrender. For a time he foolishly convinced himself that he could. Naive and childish notions of longing and need fueled him, and after a time that need grew and proved stronger than anything he'd ever felt. _Go to her_ , he had commanded Briala, _You are a familiar face and will bring a welcomed comfort that I will not be able to give at this time_. While Felassan paid with his life for his error and failure, Briala had been more willing to obey. He allowed her to live, knowing or perhaps hoping that doing prove to be useful later. The truth had revealed itself like a glimmering gift. Her role would be to serve, not as a slave, but as a handmaiden. Briala's skills as a spy and assassin in addition to her history with the human empress made her the logical, if not perfect choice for this task.

"What makes you think she will come willingly." She asked, as she stood under the stone arch of what would become his throne room. "Last we met, she and I did not part on the greatest of terms."

He cared little for her doubts and only desired compliance. "She will come. She has a strong heart, and is determined and thoughtful. She will be unable to accept death and she deserves more than the world she was born into." he waved his hand across an eluvian and the glassy surface rippled as if water. "Go by way of Vir Tanadahl. The foliage and trees will shield you and hide your intent, be swift for we are running out of time. You will find her near Skyhold and at the edge of the Frostbacks."

He thought of that day often. It plagued his dreams more so than any of his misgivings and deeds throughout the years. He rose from his bed, moving silently so not to disturb the sleeping form beside him, and crossed the room to the open balcony window. The moon had long since risen casting a bright, pure white glow along the marble railing and tiles that decorated the balcony. He peered beyond the towers and walls of stone to the crystal spires that floated in the distance. He had missed them and it wasn't until now that he knew how much. The marvelous craftsmanship of his people, the wonder and beauty of the infinite potential of the imagination - it was all breathtaking. Imbued with ancient magicks, that were long thought lost and forgotten, he found whispering at the edge of the broken veil searching for an amenable host to pass the knowledge on to. And even now, such knowledge still lingered flittering aimlessly in the world. He alone was up for the task of collecting them all - that and ensuring it was utilized correctly.

He sighed, utterly frustrated. There was still much to be done. This new, old world was still incomplete. The Tevinter Imperium refused to collapse and somehow, either by the use of blood magic or stolen elven artifacts, survived the shattering of the veil. It was a surprising and unforeseen act that would be rectified in due time. He allowed the waterfall below the balcony to cleanse his mind. It was a peaceful sound and absolute peace was something the world was in short supply of - that too would change before his time was done.

The night air swirled around him causing goosebumps to break out across his skin. He stood there, face the dark, naked and his mind restless. "There is so much to be done," he mused, his tone flat. He felt smaller somehow as all of his plan came rushing to him unbidden and all at once. It made him feel oddly vulnerable, something he was not accustomed to. He peered over his shoulder and watched the rise and fall of the sleeping figure's chest and smiled - well, almost not accustomed to.

He turned back, focusing on his duty once more. While he was no god, he was indeed prideful and hotheaded, maybe even cocky in his belief that alone could purge the world of injustice and evil. He shook his head, no, no, that was merely doubt. He was certain of his purpose. Actions and consequences. Cause and Effect. These were the black and white dichotomies of life.

"Solas?" a voice from within the bedchamber called, thick with sleep. "Is something wrong?"

She was up and moving before he could reach her and he cursed himself for being so selfish and causing her undo worry. She shuffled awkwardly toward him, her silver white curling hair spilling across her shoulders like liquid starlight.

"Vhenan," he breathed, wrapping his arms around her. "I am sorry, did I wake you? I did not mean to. You should be resting and enjoying your sleep."

She hummed thoughtfully and inhaled his scent. "Vir sumeil, I could sense something was wrong through our bond."

He smiled down at her, kissed her head and nodded. "Yes, of course. Forgive me, I continue to underestimate your sensitivity to such things."

Her sleeping silks clung to the curves of her body, the fabric so thin and transparent it looked to be flesh. He could feel her full and heavy breast pressed against his chest and the swell of her budding belly touching his own stomach. "You are beautiful."

She laughed softly, the sound so lovely and feminine it seized his heart. "Really? I feel rather like a druffalo, minus the rather intimidating horns."

"Ma vhenan, I could hardly agree with that sentiment, given you are carrying our child within you."

He remembered their time together before, when he led her to the cove near Crestwood and offered to reveal the truth of the vallaslin to her. She had balked at the idea of marking herself as a slave, as he knew he would, but what he was unprepared for was the visceral pain it caused her to know how fragmented her knowledge of her history was. He wanted to tell her then, the truth of his intentions, and lose himself in his love for her, but….

"Yes, our child. Abelas believes I am carrying a girl, though why he would wish that on me…" Her ears flattened slightly at the idea. "I wouldn't know where to begin with a girl."

This time he laughed and brought his lips down to meet her's. Guileless emerald green blinked back at him, dazed and hungry. There was lust hidden within her weary eyes and he felt his manhood swelling and grow stiff the more his hands roamed her body.

"You will be a wonderful mother, Ashalle. Should we have a daughter, I believe she could find nor possess no better mother than you."

"I never knew my own mother, or father. I'm not sure I really know how to care for a child."

"You will take to it naturally, as you do with most things."

She scoffed. "You have more assurance than I do."

"Come, vhenan." he said, offering her his hand. "Let us go back to bed."

She had become his distraction, his weakness. He soon learned after that orchestrated meeting in this very place five years ago, that he would betray himself for her. To be with her. To see her. To smell her scent and feel her warmth. He resolved himself to save her, for a life without her in existence would be hollow and dull in comparison.

And so, Briala brought Ashalle to him. Regrettably a fight had ensued and the now ex-inquisitor refused to be drawn back into any game involving the Dread Wolf. The resistance was inevitable, it was, after all, who she was and what she represented. A hero who rose to stand against evil, a shining light to fight the darkness from swallowing the world whole. Sleep magic was required, something that even Briala, who possessed no innate magical gifts, was able to perform without harming Ashalle.

The slumber was not unlike the one he experienced after banishing the Evanuris into the beyond. It was careful, well practiced and formulated magic, that would retain all that she was but make her more….amenable to his intentions. She woke, confused and frantic and he would never forget the shrill sound of terror when she realized her left arm was fully restored.

Ashalle kissed his neck and pressed herself against the hard mold of his body. She was rather good at distracting him. She ran a hot tongue down his neck and whispered sweet words of love to him as her hand reached for his length.

"You should be sleeping." he moaned, struggling to fight against his own lust.

This was not the first time. He once swore he would never lie with her under false pretenses; however, back then his tenacity, his sheer strength of will and character seemed stronger. The barriers he created as he walled off his heart and the distance he placed between them assisted with alleviating his emotional entanglement to her, if only for a while. Soon, he could no longer bear the thought of being separated from her or her dying by his hands.

"I will sleep after, my love."

He could not keep himself from reaching down between her thighs and exploring the wet folds that lay at the center of them. He pulled his face down to a round supple breast, took the peaked nipple in his mouth and sucked at it. His manhood throbbed with longing, an ache that begged to be satisfied whenever he laid eyes on her.

Ashalle's mouth was sweeter than the deepest dream, than any dream he ever experienced both in and out of the Fade. He plunged himself inside of her, ravenous for her flesh and the sweetness of her. A moan escaped her swollen lips as glittering strands of hair fell in front of her eyes.

"Oh vhenan…"

She was everything that was beautiful in the world. Though the Evanuris hindered his perfect dream, of a life with his love and their child, here and now, in this moment nothing could pull him from her.

Ashalle was honey and sweet cakes, she was the finest wine and warmed spiced rum, she was the very air that filled his lungs and the food that nourished his body. Small shuddering gasps of pleasure echoed throughout the bedchamber and mingled with the stillness of the night.

They both reached their climax, the world exploded before their eyes in swirling shades of color and light. He ran nimble fingers across the tender taut skin of her belly, feeling the warmth and surge of life and magic within, as she lay quietly in his arms. A soft kick, a subtle movement, reached outward. His child, a kindred spirit filled with old and new magic.

An heir. A queen. And he, now a king. He would rule this world, correcting the actions of those who came before to ensure a brighter, better future than the one the Evanuris sought to create. His child would be born never knowing fear, hardship, or pain. The corrections, so easy and precise, like the blossoming fruit of a tree, would take more time. Dissent within his court needed to be eliminated otherwise the transition could be hindered further. He was nothing if not efficient. It could be done.

 _Sleep_ , he thought, _for the dawn comes soon and only you are prepared to greet it_.


	2. Heir of the Empire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post-Tresspasser: The Dread Wolf succeeded in his goal of tearing down the veil and recreating the world that was lost to him. He has crowned himself king in this remade world and seeks to prove that he can accomplish what the Evanuris failed to do. Secrets, betrayals, and greed linger in the shadows just as before. Only time will tell if history repeats itself. solavellan (on-going)

disclaimer : I don't own Dragon Age Inquisition, nor any of the characters within the game. Any OCs you do read about are of my own creation.

Inquisitor Profile:

Name: Ashalle Lavellan

Class: mage

Info: Disbanded the inquisition after the Exalted Council, Cassandra was named Divine, Dorian and Iron Bull entered into a relationship, and Morrigan drank from the well of Sorrow.

(All of this information is considered relevant to the story!)

Chp 2 Heir of the Empire

He watched her glide and twirl across the polished ballroom floor. _How ethereal she looks_ , he thought, as his eyes tracked her around the room. Ashalle glowed, brilliant and bright like the light of the sky’s largest star. She wore a gown of samite made of the purest green and inlaid with emeralds and sapphires. Selfishly, he imbued the gown with magic, so she and she alone stood out among the court. Courtier cheered and applauded their queen, the children of Elvhen: those of broken Dalish clans who were once scattered across Thedas, and the downtrodden of the alienages who once clung to the fragmented faith of the lost culture they never knew. Now, all were equal, Lords and Ladies made anew, because he had deemed it so. 

He sat on an ornate chair of gold and ebony upon the dais, elevated high so that he could watch and see all the festivities occurring in the ballroom. He had always enjoyed the heat of the dance, the thrill and excitement of seedy gossip, and the allure of lust, desire and prestige. In his youth the attraction of such spectacles had been undeniable in the fade. Like a moth enraptured by the intoxicating orange glow of a burning flame, it lured him in with the promise of wonder and indulgence. In his court the same was true, albeit he hoped for fewer scandals and attempted murders, the balls he hosted had become a reflection of those once thrown in Halamshiral. 

“You dance beautifully, My lady Ashalle.” Briala said, “But now, perhaps you should rest a moment.”

“A _r lasa mala revas_ , Briala.” Ashalle said, her crimson painted lips parting to show a genuine smile. “You don’t have to watch me so closely. I am safer here than anywhere else, go, enjoy yourself and the ball.” 

Briala glanced quickly at him, the movement so subtle that an untrained eye may have missed it. Her duty was clear, she was to assist and guard his queen - to lay down her life even, should she be called to do so. In this new world where he created the shadows of the strings, the puppeteer masterfully guiding what he created without revealing the hand behind it all, he required all of his agents to be at his disposal - to be dualistic - and Briala was no exception. 

To his court she played the role of handmaiden, begrudgingly of course, for Briala believed her calling higher than that of one rooted in servitude. She proved her resourcefulness in addition to usefulness and he quickly noted in order to gain the trust of the elven people that Briala would be the key. Once she had been called ambassador - a voice for the invisible in Orlais - speaking against an empire that refused to acknowledge the rights of all it’s people and many still viewed her favorably, the champion of the people during the time they deemed the reign of the shemlen. 

“If you prove to me that you can protect her, watch her, and ensure that our child is safe from all harm then we will speak more of your role,” he told her, when she called for an audience in his study. “For now, help me _guide_ her.”

“For all the trouble you have gone through in order to ensure the elven people were restored to power, you keep your lady Inquisitor, chained on a tight leash.” Briala nearly sneered, “I am no babysitter. Do not forget that I once controlled the largest network of spies across Thedas, and the Eluvians with them.” 

“You will do well to remember that it was because of me that you were allowed to do so. _My spies_ placed you in the position to seize such control and to gain power to sway the Eluvians.” he said calmly, hands firmly behind his back. “And Ashalle is no longer the inquisitor, she is your queen. Show her the respect she deserves.”

“While she may be queen and you a king, be careful of how high you climb, Lord Fen’Harel. For as I once warned the nobility of Orlais, you may believe the elven people lost, mere insects scurrying beneath your feet, but so are wasps, and even the wisest man knows better than to poke the nest.” 

He had chuckled, amused by her childish threats. “Fear not, Briala. I am well aware of the needs of the people, go now and do as I have asked. Once my heir is born, we will speak more of how you may aid them.” 

Two weeks had passed since then and Briala had grown more so restless than before. He locked eyes with her, his magic demanding her to heed him, his warnings and his power, and to bring his love to him. She obliged, although her will fought against the pull of his own. 

“My lady, I can hardly enjoy myself while you struggle to maintain your balance.” Briala offered her hand, “I will help you to your seat so that you can catch your breath.”

Several moved aside for Ashalle as Briala guided her through the swell of the crowd. A man, once a lowly servant at the Winter Palace, bowed to her and pressed a soft kiss to her hand as she passed. His dark hair was pulled back from his face in a tight bun atop his head to reveal gaunt cheeks dusted with the traces of vallaslin. Eyes the color of midnight lowered respectfully and he moved to offer an elaborately draped extended arm to Ashalle. 

“Lord Harwyn, I would gladly accept your offer as escort. If nothing else it would give Briala a well deserved break.” Ashalle laughed, accepting his hand. 

“It is a gentleman’s duty to offer such assistance!” Harwyn proclaimed joyfully, “The beautiful lady Briala is more than welcome to join the rest of the court to partake in the ball and feel as ease knowing I will ensure her majesty makes it safely to the king.” 

Briala scoffed, unappeased by Harwyn’s flattery, but nevertheless acquiesce to his request due to her desire not to cause a scene. “Please be mindful of my lady’s condition. She carries the king’s heir.” And with skirts flaring Briala melted into the immaculately dressed throngs of guests, her cinnamon-brown hair swirling in curled ringlets behind her. 

_Charming_ , he mused thoughtfully, _He is a natural. I chose well when I elevated him to the status of High Lord of Autumn_. He followed their movements up the marble stair, passed the sentinels standing at attention, alert and focused, in gilded golden and green scaled armor, and then to the dais where her chair resided to his right of his own. “ _Ma vhenan_ …” he breathed as Ashalle drew near. He inhaled the sweet smell of her perfume, one thing he refused to allow her to change, Sandalwood and rosewater, the tantalizing scent of their courtship, from a time and place that resided solely in the deepest of dreams. 

“Lord Harwyn, I am grateful for you returning my queen to me.” he smiled, “She has been sorely missed.” 

Ashalle leaned forward, to the best of her abilities with the state of her growing belly, and greeted her king with the lightest of kisses. She had become awkward in her pregnancy, even weaker in some regards, and was prone to fainting spells and sudden weariness. He was partially to blame for the...undo side effects. The spell he gifted Briala compromised his love, altered aspects of her fortitude and shear strength of her will. A necessary sacrifice. She need not fight any more wars, and there were no battles he would ask her to take up arms for. That part of her life was done. So long as he drew breath, comfort and happiness would be her constant companions. 

“It is my pleasure, your majesty.” Harwyn bowed, “It is the least I can do to demonstrate my fealty to you and thank you for all you have given me.” 

A friend. A _true_ friend, appreciative of his efforts of righting old wrongs. Rare though it may be, this elf...this man was trustworthy and genuine. He would do well to keep Harwyn close in the days to come. 

“ _Ir abelas, ma vhenan_ ,” Ashalle sighed as she took her place beside him. “I wanted to enjoy the excitement of the ball, before my time nears.” 

“Ashalle, there will be many more. You need not worry about missing them, I shall host as many as your heart desires. Anything to keep you happy.” he reached for her hand and laced his fingers within hers. “All of the court will await your return, that I promise you.”

“His majesty speaks the truth, my lady. Our radiant queen with molten hair of silver and starlight, your name remains prevalent on the lips of the people.” he smiled again, “how fortunate we are to have such a woman of your esteem to rule beside our king. Peace and prosperity for the elven people thanks in no small part to you, my queen and lady _Inquisitor_.”

Ashalle scrunched her face curiously at the foreign title and then looked to Solas. “I’m not familiar with that name. Is this some new style our people have awarded me?”

There was a shift in his face, swift and silent like rolling grey clouds before a summer storm. “I believe Lord Harwyn is mistaken, forgive him vhenan. Perhaps the wine has gotten the better of him?” 

“What is an inquisitor, I’ve never heard of such a thing…” she paused, her face thoughtful as if searching through her mind for a forgotten memory or missing piece of knowledge. “And yet, I feel as if...Ah!” she gasped and placed fluttering, worried fingers on top of her belly. “I’m sorry, the baby - it is a good thing that Briala urged me to rest. Our little one appears to be upset with me.” 

He narrowed his eyes at Lord Harwyn. Perhaps reeducation was necessary before trusting him fully. It was a mistake, an error in judgment, and he understandably misspoke out of respect for Ashalle. Yes, he need not be punished, at least not just yet. “Please excuse us, Lord Harwyn. Right now I must attend to my wife and our child, I will seek you out at another time to discuss matters of the Autumn realm.” 

Harwyn bowed and then departed. With any luck he would be able to smooth over the slip of the lordling’s tongue and ease Ashalle’s troubled mind. He could sense her frustration through their bond, the mating bond established by ancient elven rituals of love making, soft magic and silent prayer. Some would claim it was blood magic, but the joining of each other’s essence - their very life’s blood and energy - enabled him to understand every fiber of her being better anyone could ever hope or claim to. He placed a cool, calm hand over her own easing both her mind and the fretting mind of the child. 

“Calm yourself, da’len. You have no reason to worry, it was but a mistake. Nothing more.” 

She sighed, “I suppose you are right. Just so strange - even when I was with my clan, I never heard of such a thing...an inquisitor, must be a one of those shemlen words.” 

The tips of his fingers began to glow brightly. He fanned them out across her belly and watched as the soft kicks from the child within slowed and then stopped. “You are correct. It is a word for a person who represents the formation of an organization that no longer exists. The People are all the better for it, although the organization accomplished much, it unfortunately befell the same fate as all shemlen constructs - greed and corruption. And such are a taint to everything and everyone. You needn't worry yourself over it.”

Ashalle nodded and settled herself on her cushioned seat. She looked downward at all the beautiful faces of the elven people gathered merrily on the ballroom floor. Each lord and lady dressed in the colors of their chosen realm. A woman with hair warm as honey wore a gown of amber, umber, yellow ochre and inlaid with stitching of crimson and gold - a lady of Autumn. Two men beside her wore the colors of Spring: pale lilac, salmon and evergreen on their doublets and surcoats. One by one from the North to the South, the elven people of the seasoned realms arrived in all their finery to assist Ashalle and Solas in celebrating the impending arrival of their heir. She looked around once more, peering in-between newly erected wolf statues of gold and bronze with watchful eyes of obsidian. 

“Where is Abelas,” she asked, cradling the lower swell of her stomach. “He promised to be here, you did ask him here, didn’t you Solas?”

“ _Atish’an_ my love, peace.” he said, soothing her once more. “He will be here. Abelas was investigating something for me, he promised to return before the night’s end. Give him time. It’s been a month’s journey - I’m sure he will be tired.”

  
She leaned back disappointed. Ashalle had grown fond of the looming elven mage. His tales of the days of old, when the gods and goddess lived and breathed among the elves, entertained her and filled her with a hopeful light. Foolishly, she mistook Solas for the hero of these tales, a reincarnated god come to save the People, as those of the elven pantheon once did. He was no god, but instead a man determined to restore things as they once were, sacrificing his own life if necessary to accomplish his goal. 

The music on the floor grew and swelled in a majestic crescendo and the shuffling of feet and rustle of skirts could be heard, blending in time with the lovely sound. The band was perfect, much like the evening itself. He was enjoying himself more than should admit. It had been some time since he’d attended a ball, not since he and Ashalle’s time at the Winter Palace. It was where they met Harwyn, and where Ashalle somehow intervened and negated the political manipulations of the empress, grand duke, and duchess. But oh, how they danced the night away afterwards. He reached for her hand, pulling it toward his lips, and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. It was a fond memory, even if he was the only one who remembered it.

“Do you plan to meet with the Council of Seasons this evening?” she asked, just as the music finished and the partnered dancers turned to extend their appreciation to one another. 

His head snapped around quickly to face her, utterly surprised. “How did you learn of the meeting?”

“Was it a secret?” her tone went cold. “Do you plan to keep me ignorant and sheltered in my own home, Solas? If you have concerns, I would hope you would share them with the mother of your child, not keep them from me.”

He had failed again at not causing her pain. “You are right, as always. I only sought to shield your heart from any worries or troubles. You deserve nothing but comfort and ease until our child is born, that is all I wished to give you.” 

“Is that why Abelas has not returned, due to some errand you have asked of him?” 

“No, Abelas and I share similar concerns regarding...the future of our beautiful empire. Seems fitting, I suppose, that he retained the name sorrow after all this time. He is determined to be more grim and fatalistic than I, and that vhenan is a rare accomplishment.” 

The ringing of the bell signaled the beginning of dinner, the first course came forth in a rush of fragrant scents and aromas. Silver platters filled with honeyed roasted boar on a bed of potatoes, carrots and barley; sweet greens mixed with chopped nuts and dates, and stuffed pheasant overflowing with cinnamon glazed apples, cloves, walnuts and onions. Endless bowls of soup followed, from leek and garlic, to a hearty rustic tomato paired with baskets of warm oak bread.

“You’re not eating?” he asked, his own spoonful of soup poised before his lips. “Are you feeling alright?”

Ashalle waved away another offer of food. “I’m fine, Solas, I’ve just lost my appetite.” She stood to leave, the chair slid back - the sound of wood against marble echoed off the walls like the pounding thud of tiny fists - and excused herself from the ballroom. Briala took her position beside Ashalle, her eyes full of what could have passed for a maternal, if not, familial concern for his love, and helped her from the grand ballroom on hand on the small of her back and the other minding the length of her skirts.

\---

“There has been no sign of the Evanuris.” Lord Harwyn said, “I have sent my best spies to every corner of the Autumn realm, and they have returned with nothing - not even whispers.” 

“Is that not good news?” questioned Deshanna Istimaethoriel. The ex-clan keeper turned her focus to the young lord and then to her king. Once he tore down the veil and the remaining (or rather surviving) elven clans emerged, she guided her people with a calm, steady hand to the edges of the Arlathan Forest and for the first time in well over a two thousand years finally settled down and established a home. Her status was quickly elevated, in part due to her wise and thoughtful decisions, but largely thanks to her history and relationship with Ashalle. High Lady of Spring, she was called now, and it well suited her. “Given what our king has shared, the truth of our pantheon, it is safe to assume they will be vengeful for what they deem wrongful imprisonment.” 

He tapped his fingers along the arm of his chair. The council chamber was grand and richly furnished. With a wide sweeping vaulted ceiling that seemed to pierce the sky itself, and ornate arches marking the windows and door inlaid with humming magic and gold - the chamber seeped power. Along the walls were woven tapestries from all across Thedas depicting stories and legends of Fen’Harel and those who sought him out during the rebellion, told in every beautiful, rich vibrant color known to elven kind. And of course near the door marked twin wolves, tall and proud with teeth bared and with polished eyes of onyx set in fierce marble and granite faces. 

“I had suspected as much before I called this meeting,” he said finally. “They are not brash, nor unthinking. Patiently they have waited, lurking in the shadows for millennia, biding their time for the most opportune moment. That moment will be a time of great vulnerability to me.”

“The birth,” Abelas sneered. “They will strike down the child and then Ashalle.”

“Yes, I believe so as well, old friend.” 

“How can we be certain they are still alive?” Flavius, the High Lord of Winter, asked. “As you have said yourself, when you created the veil and banished the Evanuris - the magic of immorality all but vanished.” 

“If there is but the slightest chance that Evanuris yet live, then they will continue to be a threat to all the elven people, not just to myself and my family.” he said calmly, his cool and even. “I will protect the People, as I did before, and the empire I have created for them. While I sought to undo all that has been done, I refuse to allow the Evanuris to return to power or to enslave the People once more.” 

Abelas crossed his arms over his chest, his pale face pinched in anger. “I would see justice for Mythal, Dread Wolf. For once my people protected her shrine and all that was her essence, and desired nothing more preserve all she was - the murder cannot go unpunished.”

The high lords and ladies of the seasons all glanced at one another nervously. To them, this was still new, unnerving and frightening. Long they once thought the pantheon of gods, the Creators, nothing more than myths and legends of their culture, but now they feared the wrath of the self-proclaimed would-be-gods. _The truth is far worse than they truly realize_ , he thought sorrowfully, his own brows drawn, _with the veil destroyed the Evanuris will not rest until they have won or destroyed the world in the process._

Falon snorted loudly and straightened his collar. He wore a doublet of richly made velvet, with swirling colors of crimson and orange that bled together like a bleeding sunset. A cloth-of-gold cape was draped over his shoulders with bursting suns embroidered on it. Falon was once a hunter for clan Ghilain, descendant from Inquisitor Ameridan, renown for his skill with a bow and his uncanny insight, his clan agreed that he would do well as lord of their people. And why wouldn’t he? His kills kept them fed in harsh times, and the pelts from those same kills kept them warm and clothed and additionally offered materials for trade among other clans and even human merchants. Now he reigned as High Lord of Summer, a fitting title for one who’s preference it was to bask in the illuminating glow of praise, warm and strong like the heat of summer. “I say we hunt them down like dogs.” 

“Gods or no, they are not so easily killed as that.” he said with a small smile on his lips. “Believe me, da’len, if it had been that simple I would have gladly slaughtered them all eons ago to free the elves and avenge Mythal.” 

The amber eyed youth’s frown only deepened. “That is the past. We have loved ones to think of, friends and family, not age old ancestors whom we’ve never met and are a thousand years dead.” 

“Guard your tongue,” Abelas growled, extending a gloved finger. “ One who does not respect the past possesses no true future.” 

Ariane brushed strands of auburn hair from her face. She was a very feminine beauty for a hunter, her features soft and delicate like that of a child, but behind her brown eyes the strength of an old soul. “Perhaps we should revisit this at a later date. We will accomplish nothing by arguing or shouting.” The Guardian of the Crossroads offered, her voice soothing and gentle. “My people will continue to watch the labyrinth for any sign of the Creators, er the Evanris, should they appear we will inform you at once.” 

“Thank you, Ariane. All of you, thank you for your time. I agree, let us shelve this for another time.” he sighed, “It has been a long day and I would rather like to return to my queen.” 

All stood, nodded in agreement and then bowed to their king before quickly shuffled from the room, except for Abelas, who lingered behind with his mouth fixed into a hard line. “Time is not on our side. You may regret putting off today what could have saved us all tomorrow.”

“Perhaps tomorrow will offer us more than sorrow, Abelas. With luck, tomorrow might offer hope instead. But please, enough of this.” He pushed back from the table and stood abruptly. Abelas remained where he was, his gaunt face a near mask made from stone. “Will you go to her, not now, but when there is time...when you have time? She values your companionship and holds you very dear in her heart.” 

Abelas only grunted, the hood from his cloak shielding his emotions from Solas. Not much had changed of the sentinel who once watched over the Temple of Mythal. With the wisp of immortality restored some color had returned to his skin, and even youthful locks of grey-white hair covered his head. He wore the silken strands in a braided fashion with the sides of his long narrow face and shaven clean. Experience, age, time, youth, and rejuvenation all blended together in the tall, strong frame of the elf. 

“I will go to her, if she calls.” Abelas said after time. He departed with a diminutive bow and left Solas to his thoughts. 

Free to seek out his queen he abandoned all thoughts of the Evanuris. He walked the long stone corridors of his home, hands interlaced behind his back, with the soft glow of fire illuminating his way. Statues of the fabled Emerald Knights stood sentinel along the walls. All nineteen, proud and true elves, peered down at him with judgement in their stone eyes. They were from a time when the elven nation still existed, albeit the shadow of what it once was, the knights stood vigilant and protected the Dales against the thoughtless actions of humans. He lingered on the last, Lindiranae, the last knight to wield the Evanura, the mystic blade blessed by the god June, and the last to fall in battle. Pure and righteous, she stood against the Orlesian forces and refused to yield in the face of defeat. _Yes, a worthy name_. 

He pressed on, knowing where his love was without a second thought. Up a spiral stair and into a tower, he found her sitting on the window seat in the nursery. Her gown had been discarded for something more comfortable, if not more breathable for her expanding waist. Ashalle gazed out of the window aimlessly, her eyes glazed with a hazy longing for sleep, as if on the precipice of dreaming without being asleep. Her hair fell in tumbles around her, spilling over her shoulders in a waterfall of silver and white. He had never seen anyone more beautiful.

He went to her and stood behind the frame of the window, his shoulders pressed against the stone so he could see what she did. “I have upset you again, haven’t I”

“No.” she whispered. “I am not upset with you.”

He laid a hand on her shoulder and leaned down to press a kiss to the back of her head. “Then if I have offended you somehow - “ 

“I am afraid, Solas.” Ashalle pulled away and walked toward the crib tucked in the corner of the tower chamber. “I am afraid for our child and what they will be born into.” 

Immediately he followed and took her into his arms. “You have nothing to fear, my love. All is as it should be. We are happy and well, and our child grows strong inside of you with each passing day.” He placed his large palm on her belly, sensing the surge and stirrings of magic pulse from the child. “They will be a gifted mage, and possess a natural talent with magic.” 

Ashalle laughed despite herself. “They have their father to thank for that. He was the original self-taught mage, after all.” 

He joined her, a smile spreading across his own face. “Well, that is not entirely true, but I appreciate the sentiment nevertheless.”

She turned to face him and laid her face against his chest. Ashalle inhaled his scent as she listened to the steady rhythm of his beating heart. Solas felt her trembling within his arms, it saddened him greatly to see her in such a state...but there was nothing he could do for her but comfort her with reassurance. The truth would break her. Everything would be perfect, it must be. In time, in due time everything would reveal itself - and he would make her understand why he did all that he did to make her happy. 

“If our child is a girl,” he started, tangling his fingers in her hair. “What are your opinions on the name Lindiranae?”


End file.
